Ancient and modern poems about nostalgia

Nostalgia

Ice and snow melt in the warmth of the sun

Grass is green all over the sky

When the cold east wind wakes up the poet's wine

The sun sets with the flying flowers

March, ah, March

I am dragging a long back

Wandering through the streets of a foreign land

Faces of a foreign land are indifferent

Watching every hurried passerby indifferently

To the sweaty soil

Obsessive faith

On my y buried forehead

The waves of my hometown's raccoon swayed with the red and green dresses of the village girls

This is all familiar and unfamiliar to me

I haven't looked at it for a long time

The mirage of the ancient times

The mirage of the ancient times

The mirage of the ancient times

Bringing me back to the days of my youth

This is all familiar to me.

The old acacia at the entrance of the village is still the same

Grandma stood under the tree

and waited for me to come back in the wind and rain

Now

I am eagerly searching for the eyes that seem to be

blinking at me at every moment

that old figure

until tears of remembrance fill my heart

The green hills fly with the lovely Bugu I can't forget it.

The deep nostalgia in my heart

3The piccolo that beckons the soul

Yu Guangzhong

The soul comes back to me, mother, the East can't stay for long

The tropical sea that gives birth to typhoons

July's North Pacific Ocean has low barometric pressure.

The soul returns, O mother, the south cannot stay long,

The one-way street of the sun train

July's equatorial moxibustion pedestrians' feet.

The soul returns, O mother, the north cannot stay long,

The white kingdom of the reindeer,

There is no night of rest in July, only day.

The soul returns, O mother, the foreign country cannot stay long.

The little urn dreams by the floor-to-ceiling window,

with the little plants you planted.

Return, Mother, to guard your little town after the fire.

When spring comes, I will walk the cold, wet road to

bury you in a small grave in my hometown.

Buried in Jiangnan, a small town in Jiangnan.

The hair of the willow hangs down to your grave,

and when spring comes, you will dream a girl's dream,

of your mother.

And on the way to the clearing, O mother, my footprints will be deep,

Rain drips from the willow's long hair, O mother, dripping with my memories,

Souls come back, O mother, to guard the empty city of the four directions.

4When I die

When I die, bury me, between the Yangtze River and the Yellow River

Pillow my head, white hair over black soil.

In China, the most beautiful and motherly country,

I will sleep openly, sleep the whole continent,

Listening to the two sides, the requiem rises from the Yangtze River, the Yellow River

Two tubes of everlasting music, heaving, toward the east.

This is the most indulgent and the widest of beds,

Let a heart sleep contentedly, contentedly thinking,

Once upon a time, a young man in China used to look westward from frozen Michigan,

To see through the night to the dawn of China,

With seventeen years of unfederal China's eyes

To feast on maps from the West Lake to the Taihu Lake,

To see through the dark night to the dawn of China,

To feast on the map from the West Lake to the Taihu Lake. West Lake to Taihu Lake,

to Chongqing, where there are many partridges, instead of returning home.

5

Hourly

Nostalgia is a tiny stamp

I'm at this end

Mother is at that end

Growing up

Nostalgia is a narrow boat ticket

I'm at this end

Bride is at that end

Later on

Nostalgia is a side of the short grave

I'm on the outside

Mother's on the inside

And now

Nostalgia is a shallow strait

I'm on this side

The mainland's on the other side

6

Yu Guangzhong

Give me a ladle of Yangtze River water, ah, Yangtze River water

Wine-like Yangtze River water

The taste of drunkenness

It's the taste of nostalgia

Give me a ladle of Yangtze River water

Give me a piece of Begonia red, ah Begonia red

Blood-like Begonia red

Boiling blood's burn

It's the burn of nostalgia

Give me a piece of Begonia red, ah Begonia red

Give me a piece of snow white Snowflake White

Snowflake White like a letter

The wait for a letter from home

It's the wait for nostalgia

Give me a piece of Snowflake White, Snowflake White

Give me a piece of Lap-mei, Lap-mei Xiang

Motherly Lap-mei Xiang

Motherly fragrance

It's the fragrance of the countryside

Give me a piece of Lamei Fragrance O Lamei Fragrance

7

It's that one cricket

Liu Shahe

The Taiwanese poet Mr. Y said: When you hear a cricket chirping at night overseas, you will think that it's the same one you heard in the Sichuan countryside.

It's that one cricket

Steel wings rattling and beating against the golden wind

One hop across the strait

Sneaking down from the sky over Taipei

Landing in your yard

Singinging at night

It's that one cricket

Sung in The Winds of the Phantom - July

Sung in The Winds of the Tang Dynasty - Cricket

Sung in Nineteen Ancient Poems

Sung by the loom of Hua Mulan

Sung in the words of Jiang Kui

Lauren has heard it

Thinking women have heard it

It's the same cricket

Sung by the stagecoach road in the mountains

Sung at the beacon of the Great Wall

At the inn's patio

At the inn's patio

At the inn's patio

At the inn's patio

At the inn's patio

At the inn's patio In the patio of the inn

In the weeds of the battlefield

The lone guest has heard it

The wounded soldier has heard it

It's the same cricket

That sings in your memories

That sings in mine

Singing of the surprises of childhood

Singing of the lonesomeness of middle age

Thinking of the bamboo cages

Thinking of the bamboo cage

Thinking of the bamboo cage

Thinking of the bamboo cage

Thanks to the bamboo cage <

Thinking of the hooting hedges

Thinking of mooncakes

Thinking of osmanthus flowers

Thinking of pomegranate fruits full of pearls

Thinking of yellow leaves flying in my hometown

Thinking of geese flying south

Thinking of piles of hay in the fields

Thinking of my mother's call to go back and put on more

clothes

Thinking that The years have secretly taken away so much

much

that one cricket

sings across the strait

sings in an alley in Taipei

sings in a village in Sichuan

sings everywhere every Chinese footsteps go

sings more monotonously than the most monotonous music

than the most harmonizing music

than the most harmonizing music

than the most monotonous music

than the most monotonous music

than the most monotonous music

than the most monotonous music

More harmonious than the most harmonious sound

Condensing into water

It is dewdrops

Burning into light

It is glowing fire

Turning into a bird

It is a partridge

Crying in the hearts of those who know the countryside

It is the same cricket

Singing at your window

Singing at mine You're listening

You're missing

I'm listening

I'm chanting

You should guess what I'm chanting

I'll guess what you're thinking

Chinese have a Chinese mind

Chinese have a Chinese ear